at a time.

they explode in the sky,
an orange haze burns
horizon for weeks.
i cross one leg over the
other, one shadows the other
on purpose when walking.
they saw it coming.

ahead of him we stop, watch
melting metal rain upon the fields.
twenty nine years from now
in your photo the colours will blend,
effortless, the horizon will slope.
he will not be
there.

in the distance my silhouette shifts its
weight to one leg, collapses an arm.
you cross a field, find the prints
of my boots in the snow.

the whiteness envelops the land.
our red sky inverts, fades into
night, one star explodes
at a time.

weather.

an attraction less halted,
more swept with the
streets by the salt trucks

he tells me it’s been
a long year, thinned like
the bottoms of socks we would
fold on his bed,
deflated like bellies
emptied for
summer, bites from
the bugs in the grass, or limp,
fallen like leaves, as far as
we have to the floor.

i say i forget.
don’t remember that bed,
or the weather

girls.

(contrary to boys.)

one thing follows another. there is you, and there is no you, and by the end there never was. you are less than memory. i spilled lies about being your friend. i am my ex-boyfriend’s friend, i am my ex-lover’s friend, i am my occasional casual fuck’s friend. i am not yours. you never existed. there is no you. they understand, and in the absence of you there is room for that type of comparison.

there is a space i allow myself to venture into once every two or three years, that i don’t actually belong in. i find my way through trickery, all deceit and lies. sometimes my own, sometimes not my own. it doesn’t matter. the space is always itself, it does not ask for more. i make no comparisons there. i gauge no reactions, i scan no bodies looking for a perfect place, a dream. i count no items. the space is welcoming and lets me believe i am safe there. the space collapses quickly once it begins. as these spaces tend to do. you were that space, and now you are not.

it is simple.
girls like me cannot breathe honestly there, they do not make logical sense there, they cease to exist inside. it is a good thing there are not many girls like me.

connection.

things i might e-mail, if i had a connection.

i lost my new sunglasses. it’s night time now so i don’t need them to see but i’ve been stumbling around on a mission, like a crazy person, to find them.

the lake is so calm even when the boats go through. i swam across to the other cottage, on the other side of the bay. we climbed the rocks holding roots of trees with our bare feet, and jumped with our fingers plugging our noses.

they’re beautiful, the kind of people whose energies are at constant risk of escaping. they smell like the lake and shampoo and they are kind to me; i have developed a new appreciation for that kind of thing.

i hate missing anything because it makes me feel like i’m giving a part of myself away. but i don’t mind this. i almost want it. things aren’t better when he is around but they’re not the same, not in a bad way.

i don’t belong here. i will find a way to tell you, without e-mail, with real words. i found my sunglasses in my backpack on the drive home. i used an inflatable turtle to make it across the lake. i don’t really care for the scent of shampoo. but i still don’t mind, or still don’t mind so much.

GPS.

i could never understand or find my way around the neighbourhood. i required far too much direction, instruction, someone to wait for me at the bus stop. life doesn’t favour dependency. not for me, or for anybody else. the gps is a big help but it isn’t enough. it doesn’t re-trace my steps for me, or place me back in a red-tile kitchen, popping champagne.

see, it’s like reading lips. i sometimes wish that nothing reminded me. or at least not everything. every written word is branded, as permanent as the silence of a trusted voice that has vanished, become mute. there is no familiar sound. there never was or has been. my brain is too simple, never looking for meaning, just words, only words. i sometimes wish that self-therapy was actually real, or that hot white tea can fix things.

at one point i remember being so sure
and i could point to faces, places on a map, to have them sketch directions. you’d kiss me for an answer with your hands around my fingers. that was nice. but that was a really long time ago now.

and i was wrong. and it’s fine, and i’ve become out of character instead. i don’t get lost as often anymore. i take back pain pills and leave too much coffee in the pot and am far too good for this, i dance alone and am special and i linger in doorways and get away with practically murder. i’ve barely been recognized, not for imperfections on my skin, only from afar or way too close for comfort. simple doesn’t come my way.

i try to believe that my gps was never skewed. a perspective blurred by beer in corners of strange, sometimes familiar bars. he unhooked everything, and i asked him to, under blooms my hinges from the stone, and that was years ago. attracting ants and spiders to a vine, he held on another day until there were none. he was flawless. he never gave me any trouble. not with sound, not with anything else.

i still trust his voice when i hear it, which isn’t something i had ever considered to be valuable before. when i was six years old i went out for dinner and never came home again, so i never got to say goodbye. and really, it’s not about unaligned neighbourhoods or kitchens or lip-reading. it’s about disappearance. i thought i would go home again. i didn’t know. i don’t trust vague departures. i linger. in doorways, or whatever. i’m terrified, almost all the time, and i get lost easily. steps can’t be re-traced and i don’t try. i know i’ll never know where i’ll end up, i know i’ll never get to say goodbye, and so i am abrupt sometimes and ask and tell when i’m not prompted.

everything is very simple.
i don’t know how to change my mind.

(dr. suess)

pros & cons.

this morning i made a pretty wonderful pros and cons list to address my increasingly ridiculous ‘life’ situation. there are 10 pros and only 7 cons. at these stages i always make silly decisions that most people would probably regret and i never do, i stumble awkwardly through a series of encounters i didn’t really want to find myself in but don’t mind once they happen, don’t care once they’re over, don’t remember why i did it and feel good knowing it doesn’t matter. i’ve always done the same thing, just over and over on repeat and later i find the most comfort not in the actions themselves but in the fact that i’m still me, i’m a revolving door always, i always go back to being alone in my head because i’m the only person i trust completely and, too much of the time, the only person i like. i know that it isn’t perfect because sometimes it’s nice to have someone kickin’ it to be alone with, but i never like when things are too perfect anyway.

i’ve been sorting everything again, and cutting and pasting and organizing all my pictures into online scrapbooks. i dance just about everywhere i walk, i sit in the windows of my apartment and count the cars going by because part of me wonders how many will come and go from my life before i don’t have the option anymore. i watch movies in my bed as i fall asleep and drink tall glasses of water, i kill bugs and forget to shower until it’s too late. i haven’t lost my focus and smoked to the filter in what must be months now, weeks have unraveled. i’ve started video scrapbooks for the apartment, with matt, it’s absolutely fabulous, i’m trying to remember that i don’t want to forget. it gives me something incredible to look forward to even as everything disappears, because every detail is recorded, i record just about everything because i know one day i’ll push myself away from it. i wouldn’t want it to be another way.

overhaul.
it’s completely personal. i can dig it. this is the first time in three years, potentially ever, that i’ve used all three sections of a notebook. not for different purposes.

we used to smoke cigarettes
together on the
backs of benches, you were
younger and even though
they’re all younger you
were the youngest, it was
a sign i wasn’t
serious, that it wouldn’t work,
you talked about trains
you’d never take, i talked
about smoke rings and the sky,
i said i’d take the train too,
the magic of forgetting
on my tongue, i don’t know
what we thought
would happen but i’m glad
it never did because
now i still have you, and i love you
to death